


ursus major

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bear4Cub, Body Hair, Hook-Up, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Rimming, Royal Marine Corsetry, Scent Kink, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: For two days he’d ignored the handsome Sergeant’s looks. He saw no reason to go on ignoring it any longer. When the Marine started to make for the low dingy door, Collins paid up his tab and slipped out after.Fill for day one of Rarepair Week, “Greenhithe”, as well as fora terror_exe tweet.
Relationships: Henry Foster Collins/Solomon Tozer
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37
Collections: @terror_exe Prompt Fills, The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	ursus major

The night was young and the barroom was dim and loud, all aglow like a painting. Henry Collins sat in it indifferently, sipped his ale and let the boisterous sound wash over him wave upon wave - and wondered, for the umpteenth time, when they were for shoving off. 

He’d heard rumors of delays in supply, mix-ups of crew, pursers shortchanged - but truth told, he didn’t care to know the reason for the long stay ashore, only wished for it to be resolved timely and gamely so they could get underway at last. He got restive, being in port for too long - sluggish and irritable and terribly lonely. It’d been a week longer than he expected, and he found himself already wishing heartily for the roll of the sea under his feet and the idiosyncratic machinations of a ship of men all working to the same goal. He longed for the tolling of the bells, the familiar jostling of the mess - most of all, he wished for the friendly faces and chat of the mates he was sure to make. A man like him was not meant to be solitary for long.

A watercolor wash of red seeped into the edge of his vision - Marine wool and honey-auburn hair all swept and styled and shining in the lamplight. A loud voice, command and charm somehow entwined, placing an order with the barmaid. Heat, barely perceptible, as the Marine settled close beside him at the bar. 

As antidotes to solitude go, Collins could do far worse. 

He’d seen the handsome Sergeant about in the days preceding - seen him cut his eyes at Collins from across the room, seen him lean his elbows on the bar so his broad shoulders and nipped little waist appeared to great effect, seen him look over one last time before leaving. For two days he’d ignored it, or something like. Now he was lonely and out of sorts and saw no reason to go on ignoring it any longer. When the Marine started to make for the low dingy door, Collins paid up his tab and slipped out after. 

He found his suitor leaning against a wall in the alley, staring up the narrow gap in the brick facades at the night sky above. The moon painted his face in pallid hues, made his handsomeness less laddish and more dramatic - like a fresh woodcut, like an old sculpture. 

Collins cleared his throat. Best to come right to the point, he thought. “Are you coming along, then?”

The man turned his head and grinned all slow and satisfied - his cheeks dimpled up like anything, and his eyes crinkled down to two twinkling slits. Collins was absurdly taken with the effect. “Reckon so,” he returned. “Got a place?”

Collins did, in fact, have a place. It was damp and dusty and full of creaks and squeaks and worse sounds still; it was up three flights of stairs to a hatbox of a room with a sooty fireplace and stained sheets; it was what he could afford, and what he thought he’d have to suffer for only a short time. It also happened to be perfect for engaging in clandestine sodomy. 

When his Marine let himself fall onto the bed with Collins atop him, hands sneaking under his red uniform to grope and pet at the hot hairy softness of his skin, the ancient brass frame protested heartily. Collins blushed to hear it, despite how little it truly ought to matter what this stranger thought of his state of affairs - but in the next moment all other sound was eclipsed by a gusty groan from his partner. “Christ,” he hissed, pushing himself up to rub flush against Collins, soft chest and tight stomach and strong flexing thighs. “Been waiting ages f’you to fill me up.”

Collins hummed noncommittally as he set to undoing the Sergeant’s rows of shining brass buttons. Truth told, he usually took the receiving role himself - most partners, no matter how big a cock they thought they wanted, quailed when they saw what he was working with. The most he usually got was a hand or a mouth, and he expected this encounter would go much the same way. He didn’t mind it. He tried not to mind it.

Anyway, there was no sense moping when he had such a gift in his bed to unwrap - the Marine’s jacket and shirt slipped off in succession to reveal miles of furnace-hot skin, all furred softness over shifting muscle, sweet pink nipples and scant little mounds of titty. And— Collins gave a low whistle. From underchest to hip the Sergeant was bound up in a pair of buckled stays, sweat-damp cream cotton lit dully in the low lamplight. 

Collins slid his hands to touch the man’s waist, feel the gentle slope where the stays accentuated his natural curve. “You been laced up all day? Poor thing.” He traced the boning of the stays with firm fingers - earning a pressing shiver for his trouble - and deliberately undid each fastening, savoring the soft sounds of fabric and flesh until he could peel away the garment and reveal the belly beneath. 

Without his stays the Marine was softer in the middle, with dewy downy hair curling over an expanse of soft fat and tensing muscle beneath. He still had that beguiling waist, though, dipped in like a girl’s right above his hips. Collins set his hands on it, stroked his thumbs into the Sergeant’s curves, and found that - oh - he could lift his hips right off the bed, right up to meet his own where he was knelt up astride him. Through the animal pleasure of rutting that burst suddenly into his consciousness like a sweet venom, he saw the moment his Marine felt the heft against him, the moment he realized what Collins had for him. The look on his face was almost absurd -  _ smug,  _ more than anything, smug and gleeful, like a thief with a fortune. “God, man,” he sniped out through pink lips and flashing teeth. “If you’d stop muckin’ about and get that thing in where it goes.”

“Mmm.” Collins pursed his lips, held the Sergeant’s hips still in midair against his squirming. “You certain you can take it? Only.” He unlaced his flies, drew out his prick and tugged it until the head was out and pooling slick at its fat tip, watched the man before him bite his lip and grit his teeth against a gasp. “Most don’t like to try.”

The Marine gave him a flat, unimpressed sort of look - it was quite a funny picture, really, watching that peevish stare fight a little war with the way he was practically drooling over the sight of Collins’s cockstand. “I’ll decide what I like to try, thanks kindly. You going to stick me or not?”

“Cheeky thing, aren’t you!” Collins said it on half a laugh, but the smile he got back was serious, toeing the line towards a dare. Right, then, if he wanted it that way, Collins would oblige. He got his hands under the Sergeant’s hips again and flipped him cleanly over, earning a wheezy little laugh-gasp-groan. The way he landed - chest pressed to the mattress, knees planted firm beneath the vertex of his hips - put his back on full display, tanned and birthmarked in sweet little dots and rippling with expectant muscle. Collins couldn’t help leaning up and kissing down his spine, setting just enough weight onto his body to make him quiver and sweat. 

When he reached the man’s waistband, Collins set his mouth just above, in the dimples at the base of his back, and sucked a nipping kiss there as he undid trousers and smalls to lay him bare. The Sergeant grunted when Collins nosed down his crack, and swore sharply when he tongued him over from plump golden-haired stones to dusky winking hole - Collins smiled against the slip of vinegar-scented skin beneath his mouth, let his whiskers rub intentionally over the insides of the Sergeant’s broad thighs. He kept at him there, kissing and licking and opening him up nice as anything, slow and steady as the drip of oil in the cold. He savored the taste of the Marine’s sweat and soap, the way the hair about his arsehole tangled with his tongue, the slow loosening of that strong and vital muscle; it wasn’t often that he got to ply this trade, but there was something wonderfully meditative in it. 

His Marine evidently felt much the same way; when Collins knelt up again and breached him with two greased fingers, he barely twitched from where he was melting into the mattress. A punched-out grunt, a slight furrow in his proud brow, that was all - oh, and the stream of clear stuff that was flowing slowly from his cock to further stain the already dubious sheets of the boarding-house. Collins gave it a tug, just one, to feel it in his hand - the heft of a man, the silk and heat of his shaft, was as continually enthralling to him as he knew his own quick and callused touch must be teasing to his partner. 

When he was three fingers up the Marine Sergeant, and fixing for a fourth, the man let loose a restive growl from between his bitten lips and jabbed at Collins’ flank with one foot. “Enough already,” he grumbled into his own meaty shoulder where he was half-turned to squint ill-humoredly at Collins. “Come on, man, get yer skates on.”

Collins gripped the man’s arsecheek hard in his free hand, let his broad fingertips dig into the blushing fur-patterned flesh. “I will when you’re good and ready,” he said, and then he paused to savor the image before him - further off, the man’s head pushed into his pillow, his fine golden-brown hair coming unspooled from its careful combing, his cheeks going red and his dark eyes scrunching up in irritation, and closer in, the man’s thick and muscled arse pushed up and twitching wide around three big fingers. No, indeed, he would get his buggering when they were both good and bloody ready, and not a moment sooner. 

He deemed him  _ good and ready,  _ at long last, when he could fit four fingers up him and give his insides a massage without complaint (and in fact, when he located a certain spot, with florid encouragement). He made a show of greasing himself up, aware of the Sergeant’s glazed eye on him - thumbing the spongy vein on his underside and tugging the furl of his foreskin - but his own attention was all for the way his Marine lay open before him, brash bluster burned away, fundament bared in an obscene slick gape. He nudged his head up against the hole before him, teasing the Sergeant’s reddened rim, feeling the fluttering clutch of muscle as he tried to pull him in. 

The Sergeant turned again to face him with a broad and saucy smile; his sturdy thighs flexed as he pushed his arse back against Collins. “By Christ, man— Oh!” His eyes rolled back as Collins shunted his hips forward, effortless in the force of the motion, and popped the head of his cock past his rim. The man arched his neck, writhed minutely, groaned. 

“That’s right, man. All the way in, now, don’t be nice about it.” His voice was low, strained already, and Collins could see the dim shimmer of sweat on his shoulders. He pressed in slow and steady and unbelievable, inch by dizzy inch, until he was - oh, miracle - screwed tight up against the man’s arse, balls twitching together, thigh to hairy thigh. 

He watched where the base of him stretched his Marine’s arse absurdly, disappeared into the tight heat of him at an impossible width, with something close to reverence. The words tumbled from his mouth without his leave: “If you could see yourself.” He sighed expansively. “How stretched you’ve gone for me.” He thumbed around the man’s rim to emphasize his point, then felt down to his bollocks and the drooling length of his cock, which was almost as hard as ever. “And you love it, don’t you?” 

“Oh, yes,” the Sergeant growled. “And a cock like yours is hard to come by, so use it, would you?” 

Collins huffed a laugh, gripped the man’s hips before reconsidering and pressing the bulk of his soft humid weight overtop of him - one thick furry forearm holding him down at the shoulders, just enough space between them for Collins to get some leverage. “If you like,” he said, soft and low-pitched into the scarlet shell of his ear. 

He didn’t give him time to spit a pithy response before he began thrusting sure and strong, out then in again with the inexorable force of wave on stone. The Marine was tight inside and blazing hot, nearly revelatory after Collins’s scant history with penetration, and he took it marvelously - sweating and grunting and twitching around him, braced up strong as anything with his legs flexing and his mouth hung open all pink and wet. He made sweet noises when Collins nuzzled and bit at his neck, all high and growly, and when Collins kissed down to tuck his nose into one armpit and scent him he swore a blue streak into the well-bitten flesh of his own forearm. He smelled sweet under the arms, all warm spice and just a savor of flat damp wool - none of the sour saltiness of his fundament, though that had been sweet in its way as well. 

Collins slid his hands down to clutch at his heaving waist, to trace the angry love-bite lines of the stays, then up to stroke through the man’s thatch of sweat-soaked chest hair to rub at his little fleshy tits and the nipples that crowned them. His partner seized and bucked beneath him, tightening in little seizing bursts; he pressed down harder in return, making the mattress squeal and the floorboards groan beneath them. His brow was dripping sweat, his head was spinning - it didn’t matter, any of it, for there was a Royal Marine in his bed taking his curse of a bloody great cockstand like he was born for it. All else was immaterial. 

All too soon he felt his end rushing up to him - it had been a long time, a very long time since he’d had it this good, and much as he was loathe to squander such an event, his body had other notions. It was all he could do to keep fucking into the man, over and again into that desperate clenching heat, until he spilled himself in rivers into the Sergeant’s deepest clutches. 

The Sergeant gasped to feel his spending, hot and copious and improbable in its duration; he twitched down like a demand as Collins tried to extricate himself. Below them both he could feel rather than see the man’s hand working over his own prick, and tried to replace it with his own, but in scarcely five strokes he was emptying himself onto Collins’ sheets and the front of his thighs with a grunt of a sigh. “Fuck,” he bit out, then, apparently at a loss for any other word, _ “Fuck.” _

Collins rather expected that this man would be up and off fairly quickly, as was often the case. He was, again, surprised; the Sergeant only stretched out and groaned when Collins separated from him at last, only began with wonder in his eyes to lazily finger Collins’ seed out of himself as Collins transferred water from pitcher to basin to rags, only took the offered cloth and cleaned himself with the quick carelessness of one who was abed and eager to get to sleep. He did not budge when Collins edged in beside him on the little bed, but looked over and smiled at him drowsily. 

“You make me feel like such a small thing,” he murmured. “It’s not easy to come by.” He looked half asleep already, poor lad. Must be he was one of those who couldn’t help dropping off after a tumble. 

Collins put an arm across his chest, felt the rhythm of his breathing subside into sleep. In a while he would shake him back awake and send him on his way - for he must have been missed at the barracks, if not now then surely in the morning. In a longer while he would get his leave to come aboard and would be off, almost certainly for several years. In another life he might ask this man’s name, might invite him to come calling again, might say something foolish like  _ I’d like to keep you. _ But this was not a man to be kept, and he was not a man to do the keeping. So for the moment, in this life, he contented himself with feeling the soft sweltering warmth of the Sergeant’s body pressed up against his own and watching the lines of his face slacken and become endearingly uncouth, mouth open, breath snuffling. He’d take the time he was given, and be well glad of it.


End file.
